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The Blacksmith's Bravery

By Susan Page Davis

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Excerpt:
Vashti scurried behind the serving counter that had been made out of the old bar. She poured two glasses of water. Bitsy paused beside her on her way into the kitchen to give Augie the Nashes’ order.
“Before it gets busy, could you run across and see if Griffin’s got the ticket office open yet? I don’t want to get there at the last minute and not have my ticket.”
“Yes’m.” Vashti delivered the water glasses with a smile to the Nashes and ducked out the door and across the street. She hiked up her skirt and ran past the emporium and across the alley to the stagecoach office. The big blacksmith had shed his apron and was tacking a notice to the wall beside the door.
“Mr. Bane, Miss Bitsy sent me for her ticket to Boise again.” Vashti halted beside him, panting.
He looked up. “Oh, sure. Just a second.” He hammered a final tack into the poster and went inside. “You got the money?”
“Yes.” Vashti stared at the notice he’d posted.
Help wanted—stage coach drivers, blacksmith, livery stable hands. Inquire within.
She pulled in a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and stepped inside. Griffin sat at the desk, fumbling at the ticket book with his big hands.
“You said she’s going through to Boise?”
“That’s right. On business. Taking the two o’clock.”
Griffin wrote in the book and tore out the ticket. “Three dollars and six bits.”
Vashti handed over the money Bitsy had given her that morning. “I noticed that poster you put up.”
“Uh huh.” Griffin gave her the ticket. He put the ticket book in a drawer and in the process knocked his pen off the desk. He bent to retrieve it.
“It says you’re hiring.”
He sat up and squinted at her. “That’s right. I need some more manpower.”
She ignored the “man” part and plunged on. “Mr. Bane, I’d love the chance to drive. I learned how when I was kid, and I’ve always been good with horses. I know I could do the job.”
His jaw dropped.
“If you’ll give me a chance, I can take the stage through. I know I can, easy as pie.”
Griffin stood and stared down at her with such a thunderous expression that Vashti faltered to a stop and waited.
“You want to drive?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Stagecoaches?”
“Yes, sir.”
He threw back his head and laughed.

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